


we'll cast some light and you'll be alright

by orcamermaid



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Discussion of emotional abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 16:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13391949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orcamermaid/pseuds/orcamermaid
Summary: During a party at Dengdamor castle, Panto takes a moment to console Silas about the lingering effects of some of his less pleasant experiences.





	we'll cast some light and you'll be alright

**Author's Note:**

> well, this is the first fanfic i've finished in almost exactly four years. fancy that. time is weird.
> 
> the title is from "crosses" by josé gonzález.

It was a late summer night in the land of Wendimoor. The fields and forests of Inglenook lay dark and still, but Dengdamor castle was far from quiet. Once a somber and imposing place, it had undergone a significant change since the end of the long war. The banquet hall was packed to the brim, its occupants merry and raucous. At one end of the room, a band played, and Trosts and Dengdamors alike spun and swayed to the jaunty rhythm. Litzibitz Trost and her retinue were seated in a corner, nursing cups of colorful punch, surrounded by a crowd of pretty young bachelorettes who giggled and gasped at their stories. Farson Dengdamor was leading a reluctant Wygar Oak in an improvised dance, wild and energetic. Next to a table laden with taffy-berries and fizzy soda grapes and slices of saltwater melon, Lady Frija and Lord Jeppum were engaged in lively conversation with a handful of others. The only person in attendance not participating in the celebrations, it seemed, was Panto Trost.

Panto huffed in frustration. By his reckoning, it had been fifteen minutes since Silas had quietly slipped away from the party. At first he’d thought nothing of it, but when Silas hadn't come back, Panto had begun to worry. It wasn't like Silas to just disappear without so much as a word. If he had intended to retire for the evening, surely he would have informed Panto, or better yet, asked him to come along. Perhaps he was working himself up over nothing, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. He set his empty cup down on the nearest table and exited the banquet hall.

The halls of the castle were dark and quiet, save for the laughter and music spilling out from the party. Panto headed first in the direction of the aviary—he had found Silas in there on more than one occasion, distracted by his beloved birds—but found it empty, the birds slumbering in their cages. Undeterred, he turned on his heel and headed for the gardens. Perhaps Silas had grown weary of the loud and crowded party and escaped to the soothing serenity of flowering shrubs and caramel apple trees? Once again, Panto came up empty-handed. The only creatures to be found in the garden were fireflies, bright pinpricks of light shifting between all the colors of the rainbow. He headed back inside. If Silas was neither in the aviary nor the garden, surely he must be in his room.

The royal living quarters were situated at the other end of the castle, past a series of winding corridors, but Panto knew the route well. Many were the times he had snuck through these halls under cover of night, stealing into Silas's room without alerting the guards. He thanked his lucky stars that this ridiculous subterfuge was no longer needed. The thrill of being able to love so openly was still fresh and heady; it was almost overwhelming to know he could kiss Silas in broad daylight on the castle steps without fear of repercussions. There was nothing in their way now.

The door to Silas’s room was closed. Panto knocked softly, and then, after receiving no response, repeated the action.  
“Who is it?” Silas's voice was quiet and subdued. Panto furrowed his brow.  
“It's only me, my love,” he said. “May I come in?”  
There was a pause before Silas answered.  
“Of course,” he said finally. “The door is unlocked.”  
Panto pulled the door open and slipped inside, closing it behind him again. It was dark—Silas had not lit any of his candles or lanterns, and only the window on the far wall kept the room from pitch darkness. Silas himself was sitting on the floor by the foot of the bed, knees drawn to his chest. In the cold, pale moonlight with its harsh and inky shadows he looked almost spectral. Panto sunk to his knees in front of him and reached out to rest one hand against his cheek.  
“What's wrong, sweetheart?” he said. “I grew worried when you did not return to the party.” Silas sniffed; Panto realized with a pang of concern that he'd been crying.  
“I'm sorry, my love,” said Silas, leaning into his touch. “I didn't mean to worry you. I just needed some air.”  
“Whatever you need,” Panto assured him. “May I stay with you? I hate to see you so distressed, and I should hate even more to leave you alone like this.”  
Silas hesitated, then nodded. “Please,” he said. Panto smiled.  
“Of course. Please, let's sit on your bed instead of this cold floor. There's no reason for you to be uncomfortable as well as upset.”

Panto got to his feet, and then took Silas's hand to pull him up. Instead of letting go once they were both standing, he reached for his other hand as well, and drew him into a soft kiss. Silas gave him a brittle smile as they both moved to perch on the edge of the large, soft bed.  
“Now, tell me,” said Panto. “What is it that’s got you so out of sorts?”   
Silas shrugged one shoulder. “It's silly,” he mumbled.   
Panto curled a hand around the back of Silas's neck. “It is not silly,” he insisted. “You must know I would never be so dismissive of your feelings. I’ll not push you to talk about it if you would rather not, but I’m happy to listen.”   
Silas sighed. “I only…” He paused. “I’m so thankful that King Francis put everything right. Truly, I am. It’s just that, well… some of the things that happened before… I’m having a hard time letting them go.”  
“Of course,” said Panto. He’d had more than his fair share of nightmares about the last few days before the Boy’s return—had woken up trembling, reaching out to hold Silas and feel him warm and alive and safe beside him. “Is there something in particular that's troubling you?”  
“Well,” said Silas hesitantly; Panto nodded for him to continue. “It's… It’s my mother.”

“Your mother?” Panto frowned, protective anger flaring in his gut. “Did she say something to you? I thought she was behaving herself! If she's hurting you again—”  
“She isn't,” Silas cut him off. “She's been perfectly pleasant. I… I know she's different now. She's not the person she was then, and regardless, it was a trying time for all of us. It’s hardly fair of me to dwell on the past like this. But seeing her at the party, laughing and dancing and smiling… Smiling at  _ me _ , even…”  
Silas's voice broke, and he blinked rapidly against the tears welling up in his eyes. Panto pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him, running a soothing hand through his hair. Silas took a deep breath.  
“She told me… After Farson— After what happened to Farson,” he choked out, “she told me she wished they'd shot me instead. I wish I could just move on and be happy that everything's better now, but every time I look at her, I hear those words. Her eyes… She  _ meant _ it, Panto.” He pressed his lips together as sobs wracked his body. Not for the first time, Panto felt the urge to throw propriety out the window and have some very stern words with Lady Frija. He'd long since lost count of the times he'd held Silas like this, doing his best to reassure him in the aftermath of his mother's cutting words. He settled for pressing kisses to Silas’s temple as he wept in his arms. He did not tell him how Litzibitz had come to him one night, furious and near tears about the way their father had treated her while Panto was in the other world. It wasn't his story to share.  
“It’s alright,” he murmured. “It’s alright to feel hurt. You don't have to deny yourself an emotional reaction just because things have changed since then.”  
“I just feel so weak,” Silas said, voice quavering. “Just like she always says I am. I'm weak and soft and I don't know how to be anything else.”

Panto moved to cup Silas’s face in both hands. He met his dark eyes, wet with tears.  
“Silas,” he said, “my love, my light, my life—you are not weak. You may not be a warrior, but you have a strength of character matched by no one in all of Wendimoor, and I admire it endlessly. You are soft, yes, and I would not have you any other way. Your kindness and compassion do you great credit.” He kissed the tears off of Silas’s cheeks. “I love you, so much.” Silas sniffed and smiled shakily.  
“I love you too,” he replied. Panto held his gaze, brow furrowed.  
“What your mother said to you was cruel,” he said. “Never doubt that. It was cruel, and it was wrong. You are  _ wonderful _ , and you are not disposable, and she is  _ so _ lucky to have you. You aren't obligated to forgive her.”  
“I do forgive her,” said Silas. Panto believed him—his beloved was nothing if not merciful. “I do. I just don't know how to move on.”  
“Slowly,” said Panto. “That's how you move on. Slowly and carefully, and with plenty of support from me, and Farson, and Wygar. Litzibitz will be your sister soon as well—she likes to tease, but I know she cares for you greatly. You don't have to suffer through this alone. I swear to you, I will be here every day for the rest of time to remind you that you are loved and valued and cherished.”  
Silas laughed wetly and leaned in to kiss Panto, resting his hands against his chest.  
“Thank you,” he said. “Truly.”  
“Think nothing of it,” said Panto with a smile. “It's nothing more than you do for me. Now, would you like to sleep, or do you feel up to returning to the party? I’d like to request the next dance, my love.”  
Silas hummed thoughtfully, then got to his feet. “Come on then,” he said, offering his hand. “Let's go steal the show.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! this fic was beta-read by the lovely mauve, who can be found on ao3 at [piraete](http://archiveofourown.org/users/piraete/pseuds/piraete) and on tumblr at [phantomsteed](http://phantomsteed.tumblr.com). i'm on tumblr at [lesbianlitzibitztrost](http://lesbianlitzibitztrost.tumblr.com)!
> 
> i really hate watching the scene where frija makes silas cry, so i just needed to write something cathartic. also, hurt/comfort is my JAM, so.


End file.
